


Are You Single?

by modernraceownsairpods



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Drunken Flirting, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-02 18:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20814701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modernraceownsairpods/pseuds/modernraceownsairpods
Summary: Finch gets hammered at a party, and a certain redhead catches his eye.





	Are You Single?

**Author's Note:**

> It's 2:24 AM and I knew if I didn't write this right now I never would. So here we are.

Finch brought the cup to his lips, downing it in less than three seconds. Race just stared at him, in shock. “Jesus, man. Keep that up and you’ll end up an alcoholic before age 25.”

Finch looked at him before swirling the bottle of scotch he had in his other hand, pouring himself another drink and raising it, like a toast. “It’s college, Racey. This is what we’re supposed to do.” He winked and took another sip.

\--

Okay, _maybe_ he’d had a little too much to drink. It had been about two hours, and the party was still raging, music blaring, but a lot of couples had taken to making out instead of dancing. Finch was pretty sure every room in the upstairs was filled. The red solo cup had never left his hand, except if it was to get a refill, which meant it had left his hand a lot. Race had said he wasn’t going to leave his side while he was hammered like this, but _then_ Race had seen Spot Conlon enter through the door, and he was gone from Finch’s side faster than a fucking cannon. Finch was fine by himself, though. That meant he no longer had an alcohol filter. Which meant he was definitely a lot more drunk than he should be on a Friday night. He couldn’t dance, not sober, and definitely not drunk, either, so he took to slinking around the sidelines, eyeing everyone at the party. He’d honestly forgotten whose house this was, but they had nice décor, at least.

_ I want more booze. Where’s the kitchen again? Maybe I can ask someone—WHO THE FUCK IS THAT—_His thoughts were interrupted as he made eye contact with a boy lounging on the couch, alone. He was dressed in a graphic tee and jeans, wearing a snapback. Red hair spilled from under the cap, and a good smattering of freckles painted his cheeks. Finch was definitely staring. And cute redhead boy was staring back. Finch was completely certain he was in love. His mind had completely switched over from alcohol to something else, and he made his way through dancing and grinding partners to find a seat next to him, a hand on his bicep. “Well, hello there~” He said, probably-definitely-not slurring his words. He still had the cup in his hands, and clumsily brought it to his lips, taking a long drink. “’m Finch.”

Cute redhead boy looked like he was about to burst out laughing, and turned to fully face him. “Hi, Finch.” He said, his eyes sparkling.

Finch’s eyes were wide as he looked at him. _God, he’s so pretty. I could look at him for hours…_ “You got a name?” He asked, taking another sip.

Pretty redhead boy gingerly took the cup out of his hands, placing it on the floor. “Albert. And _you_ have definitely reached your limit on drinks.”

Finch whined, but didn’t complain other than that. He giggled, pressing his chest to Albert’s arm. “Albert is a cute name,” He said decidedly, not breaking eye contact.

“So’s Finch.” Albert countered, raising his brows suggestively.

Finch knew when a feeling was reciprocated, and he let out another drunken giggle. “So, you single, handsome?”

Albert burst out laughing at that, covering his mouth to muffle himself. Finch stuck out his bottom lip, put-out. “What?” He asked.

“Nothing, nothing. Uhh, no, actually. I’m not single.”

Finch was certain his heart was going to shrivel up and die. “You’re not?” He asked, despairingly, looking and feeling heartbroken. This was the worst news he’d ever received in his life. How was he even supposed to keep on _living_, after this? He reached down to get his drink, only to accidentally brush against it, knocking it over and spilling its contents on the hardwood.

“Yeah. Sorry, man, I’m taken.” Albert still looked like he was on the edge of laughter, and that made Finch sad and mad at the same time. He whipped his arm away from Albert’s, and stood up, swaying.

“I’m never going to forgive you for this.” He said decidedly, scowling, trying to hold back tears. “You broke my heart.” He turned away, fleeing to the kitchen.

Race had seen the whole thing from where he was dancing with Spot, and moved over to Albert, giving him a questioning look. Albert just held his hands up, defensively. “He’s drunk, I didn’t do anything.”

Race just scoffed, and headed to the kitchen, where he found Finch, fiddling with the faucet for the tap. Scotch didn’t taste good anymore. Nothing tasted good anymore. Everything good in the world was gone, because Albert was taken. The love of his life had a boyfriend or girlfriend, and Finch’s heart would never heal. He was committing to a life of sobriety and misery, starting now.

Race just watched as Finch put his head under the faucet. He pulled him away as he tried to turn it on, though, fearing he might drown himself, or something. “What happened with Al?” He asked, looking concerned.

Finch wasn’t crying. He was not. …Yes he was. He was definitely crying. He swiped at his eyes with a scowl, blinking heavily, swaying dangerously to the side.

“He’s not single.” He whimpered, burying his face in his hands.

Race almost burst out laughing too, but caught himself, ending up just snorting. “Finch, I’m—” He took a breath, calming himself down. “I’m so sorry to hear that.” He didn’t sound very sorry at all, and Finch looked up, his face hot.

“Fuck you! You don’t understand. He’s… he’s so beautiful… I saw him on the couch, and—Race, I think I’m in love. But he’s NOT SINGLE!!!” He shouted, balling his fists and sinking to the floor.

Race knelt with him, keeping the grin off his face. “I think you should sleep, Finch. You’ll feel a lot better in the morning, I promise.” Finch scowled. “I don’t wanna sleep. I want to kiss him. I want to date him. I wish he was single…” He ended wistfully. Race ended up having to carry him out to his car, laying him in the backseat. He hadn’t drank anything, since he’d been nominated the designated driver of the night. He assured everyone he’d be back, he was just dropping Finch off at home, and was just about to drive off when Albert ran to the car, hopping in the front seat. “I’m coming too.” He said, and that was that.

\---

Finch woke up the next morning with one of the worst hangovers he’d ever had. He’d thrown the covers over his eyes with low groan. Whoever had dropped him off last night had neglected to close the curtains, which meant the sun was shining brightly into his room. Usually he liked it this way. Not today. Definitely not fucking today. He rolled over, to bury his face into his pillow, but ended up burying his face into something _else_ instead. A mess of red hair. He didn’t remember anything from last night, though if his boyfriend was in bed with him, it must have ended nicely.

Albert, woken by the noise and movement, turned, giving his boyfriend a happy smile. “Good morning, babe.”

Finch gave him a groan in response, but attached himself to his arm. “G’mornin’, Albie.” He said, his voice rough. “Close the curtains, will you?”

Albert disentangled himself from the other boy, moving to close the curtains to practically no light shone through. He got back into bed with a snicker, cuddling into Finch. “Nice to know you remember me, today.” He said, biting back a giggle.

Finch looked up, now that the sun had fucked off, giving his boyfriend a confused look. “What…?”

Albert snorted. “You don’t remember? I'm not surprised, actually.”

Finch furrowed his brows. “If it was from last night, then of course I don’t remember. Do you know how much I drank?”

“Too much.” Albert replied easily, wrapping his arm around him. “You were fucking smashed, dude.”

Finch huffed. “I wouldn’t go that far. I don’t think I was that drunk, anyway.”

Albert raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? You were getting’ real up close and personal with me last night,” He grinned.

Finch was confused. “…Okay…? Why is that weird? You’re my boyfriend.”

Albert’s grin widened. “You asked if I was single.”

Finch’s jaw dropped. “_No_,” He whispered.

Albert nodded, a look of of glee on his face. “And then you started crying when I told you I wasn’t.”

Finch swore he'd never drink another drop.


End file.
